Bird's Eye View
by AmbiguousTardigrade
Summary: The mind of Avian Conner, is a strange one indeed. How does she think? How does she perceive the foreign world found inside Wall Rose? How does she interact with her peers when Levi is not around? All this and other adventures ranging from serious to silly shall be explained. *This is a series of oneshots/drabbles/side stories that coincide with my main fic 'Learning to Fly*


**Before we get started, please note that Bird's Eye View is not its own fanfiction. This is purely a collection of oneshots/drabbles/side stories that coincide with my original fic, Learning to Fly. This will not be updated on a regular schedule, so chapters will be written and uploaded only when I have the time, and only when I feel like doing so. Nor will this fic follow any sort of timeline, and not all chapters will be in order in terms of when certain events may take place. I will come up with plots and arcs whenever I think of them. Note, that most of these chapters will NOT feature much of Corporal Levi, if at all, as this is to serve as a way to see how Avian Conner interacts and behaves when he is not present. Because of this, most of these oneshots and drabbles will be in AVIAN'S POINT OF VIEW unless stated otherwise. With all that said, please enjoy!**

**If you haven't read Learning to Fly up to Chapter 7 then DO NOT CONITINUE.**

The story thus far: Squad Levi has just survived the near impossible journey of returning to Wall Rose after having spent the previous week at the home of Avian Conner. Having safely escorted them to their destination, Avian has since declined Eren's offer for her to come with them inside the walls, and is now reluctantly making her way back home.

This one-shot is told in first person from Avian's POV

**Trusting in Fate**

There is nothing but the sound of solid hooves upon the ground, of the gentle caress of wind blowing in my hair, of the melodic pounding in my heart, all coinciding into a rhythm of solemn farewell. The deed has been done, the strangers have been safely escorted home. Our time of unity has come to an end, as I knew it would.

So what is this ache that plagues me?

I knew such an impasse would come, as did they, and yet…

Why do I feel saddened by their departure? It makes no sense, as to why I should care so much about the welfare of these strange people who suddenly happened upon me not but a week before.

So many thoughts, so many feelings, all of which are foreign to me. Am I regretful? Am I fearful? Am I hesitant? What am I feeling exactly?

It doesn't matter now. They are all long gone, back to their monumental walls and their strange city. Back to their homes and their lives, back to their Garrisons and Reconnaissance Corporations, whatever they may be.

There is only the sound of hooves upon the ground. That is all I need to know. I'm heading back home, and with each comforting gallop those strange people draw farther and farther away into the distance behind me.

I do not look back.

A great deal of time passes between my departure from the group and coming into close proximity with the first of the great walls we had to pass through, Rose is what they called it? Whatever it may be named, there are no giants in sight, so we journey through the breach unscathed.

I can feel Stonewall slowing beneath me, and I can hear his breaths becoming more labored.

"We are half way there, Stone." I tell him in a soft voice, running my fingers through is grand mane. "I know you are fatigued, but you must go on. We must make home before nightfall."

That is all I say as we ride steadily forward. Giants linger as hounding predators on this side of the great wall, but they are far away and do not bother us. Soon enough, we make it to the district gate, and though nothing impedes us as we enter, giant bodies to both of my sides stir in the distance at the sound of hooves upon stone. I loathe to take up form again as my right leg still pains me from my slip hours before, but there is no helping it.

The giants draw closer, their pudgy bellies and grotesque arms reaching out for me, a physical manifestation of death, but even with so many around me, I am not afraid.

With practiced ease, I tap the command 'follow me' on Stonewall's neck, and with the slightest of movements to signal to him that I wish to jump off, my steed makes a sharp left so his body is nearly perpendicular, and the force of his sidestep throws me into the air as I leap. Only when I feel myself start to descend, and only when I know that he is well enough away so he will not be scalded by steam, do I transform.

It is but a simple thought that provokes the mutation, much the same kind that urges any of my other limbs to move, or what allows me to switch from one emotion to another. It is a kind of change that is not readily explainable, it can only be felt. It is as natural to me as breathing, and after so many years of having practiced, I feel as comfortable in this body as I do my own.

Heat of unimaginable temperature envelops me, though it does not scald me, and the all too familiar sensation of having my limbs and senses extended overcomes me. Before I know it, I'm flying. This giant body of mine holds such great speed that I propel myself through the air as if I were a bird, my hands and feet barely touching the ground below.

I've always loved this, the feeling of strength and speed and agility this form yields to me. For years I've wondered at where such an ability came from, but over time, the question just slipped my mind. It wasn't important. I was the only one.

Until now.

With heavy heart, I think back to that brown haired youth who is just as I am. It is still a difficult thing to grasp, the fact that I am not one of a kind. That there are others like me out here in the world. For so long, I believed myself to be alone, and for a good number of years, I was.

There was only me.

For a decade it was only me and my thoughts, my actions, my memories. Solitude was a harsh reality, but somehow I survived, the instinct to keep on living, the instinct to retain my humanity through all that time somehow managed, and I never even realized that I was still capable of some form of communication until _they_ came.

The strangers.

So suddenly, so abrupt, like a happening of chance.

But there is no such thing as chance, only the fate's design.

How else did they happen to find me, out of all the places they could have gone? How is it that in the vastness of the woods that surround my home, how is it that they stumbled upon my home, as secluded and hidden as anything can be?

It's fate, of course. What else could it be?

Fate is such a strange, incomprehensible thing, yet it is that one thing that keeps this world in balance. It is fate alone that gives the world a sense of stability, it is the reason why things occur the way they do. I have to believe that, I have no choice. It is the only thing that keeps me from going mad. How else could I have survived this long after losing everything? Those three winters of insanity after my family was taken from me… it is a wonder I still remember such an event. I could have sworn that my mind would be lost in the overwhelming pressures of rage, depression, horror, and isolation.

But somehow… it wasn't.

Somehow, I retained who I am. I retained my sense of right and wrong, my knowledge, my morals, my ambitions, my individuality. Somehow… it all stayed with me. What else but fate can be responsible for such a thing?

So caught up am I in the wonderings of my inner thoughts that I startle to attention at the sweeping of a massive hand before me. The giant has superior size and strength, but even with the element of surprise, I am swifter than the hand and easily leap over the appendage to the next copper colored roof ahead.

I wince at the twinge of pain that accompanies my right leg as I land, but I do not stop. The exit is almost upon me, and with Stonewall galloping unrivaled below, together, we weave through giants and make our way outside.

No matter how many times I see it, the vastness of such greenery and sky, broken only by speckles of clouds above and dark forest trees below, draws my breath away from me with its painted majesty. The hills seem to roll into the distance with a rocking motion as soft as down, everything from the wind in my hair to the bare earth beneath my feet emanating a beauty and solace that only the height of summer can bring.

Oh how I love this land, this season, this time of warmth and growth and life. It is such a comfort and sight to behold. And the freedom… Oh the freedom it brings! Nothing but kilometers upon kilometers of never ending land and sky to behold and explore. How many years have I spent traversing this vast expanse, only to be surprised by whatever awaits me behind every sturdy stone and within every cool pond of water.

And yet, with all this world, a piece deep inside of me is still discontent. It yearns for the one place where I have grown to love above all others. The place that is as much a part of me as the blood in my veins. With nothing to stop me, I yearn toward home.

I barely allow myself to stop long enough to dislodge from the body of my giant before hopping onto Stonewall's back, and together, we ride. Limply I sit in his saddle, legs dangling loosely around his middle and my arms at rest between my legs. There is no need for me to direct him, for our bond is strong after years of companionship, and he already knows where it is that I wish to go.

…..

It is so peaceful, even after such a strenuous journey, that I fall into a daydream of sorts. The next thing I know, I feel the sensation of Stonewall leaping, and I snap into reality. Clearing the log with ease, Stonewall lands with a soft thud, the sound dampened by the greenery and soil comprising the lower portion of an all too familiar forest.

Home.

The sun is but shimmering, pale yellow shafts sliding through the cool wood, but a brightness colors my chest. Branches, shrubs, and other growing things seem to wave in the breeze as if to embrace me in their soft fronds; birds call into the sky with a victory unlike any other I've ever heard; a hum of an innumerable amount of insects caress me with their musical lull.

Oh how I love this place.

Soon, the physical manifestation of my home appears through sound trunks, and it is only then that I care to recall what all has happened.

My home is in shambles from the storm. The entire entrance is caved in, and the door frame is cracked and crooked. An entire portion of the roof is gone revealing a sizable hole to allow the elements access to the interior. Stone and wood of varying sizes lay in shattered and splintered pieces upon the grass, each a reminder of the horror that befell upon this place only a few days before.

An onslaught of thoughts come to mind, but I instinctually push them away. They are in the past now, and now that I have cut ties with the strangers who were involved, so these memories as well, shall be cut.

It is only me again, and I am thankful that the foreign, discomfited atmosphere that accompanied such strange people has now left. I have been on my own for so long that I find comfort in the silence and isolation.

Not only that, but I need time.

Time to adjust to such a bizarre occurrence. The people were here for a full week, yet in that time, my apprehension and a sort of off-putting feeling never subsided. Not entirely. Seven days is not long enough to grow accustomed to such a dramatic change.

But all of that is not important, and I push such ailing away. My home is in ruin, and there are multitudes of repairs to be done before the next rainfall. Besides, there is no use in thinking of those trivial thoughts. The strangers are long gone now, hidden and safe behind their walls.

It is slim that I shall ever see them again.

….

'_What reason do I have to be here?' _I think again, aghast at where I now find myself.

It has been two months since the strangers left, and as I predicted, I have seen no sight of them. It is just as well, because I do not have an overwhelming desire to see them again. But that does not explain to me as to why I am here.

With a deep contemplation, I look up from where I sit astride Stonewall at the vast wall ahead of me. I am still a good distance away, but even from this many kilometers, I can make out the tiny dots that I know to be people upon the wall, looking like ants as they scurry to and fro doing whatever it is those city people do.

I have found myself coming here to watch them often as of late. Why? What purpose does it serve? I am highly aware that the men up there going about their business have no way of knowing that I am watching, and since I am such a distance away, I can't even discern individual faces.

I have no idea what it is that I am looking for. Or who. I should be at home.

But what awaits me there? The same old routine. Having finished making the necessary repairs to my quarters, there is nothing new or novel to hold my attention. This past month I have fallen back into what I have always done, what I have always known, what I have only known for the past few years.

Once again I've been forced to content myself with the same endeavors: weaving baskets, blankets and whatever else I do not need, growing numerous herbs and vegetables, scouring the forest for feathers to decorate my works, carving the likeness of every animal I can imagine into the wood I have gathered, riding Stonewall along the same familiar trails, sketching scenes from my books, reading, cooking, cleaning, sleeping, eating, sitting, standing… I even dug out my father's old guitar.

It's ALL the same! Nothing has changed! How many times can I unravel and mend the same quilt? How many times can I carve a bird or deer out from a block of timber? How many times can I read the same story? How can I keep repeating the same thing over and over and expect it to keep my attention, to give me fulfillment?

Because none of it does.

I have tried my hardest to divert myself, but no matter how I busy my mind learning the same facts of history I've long ago memorized from my father's history texts, no matter how loudly I sing the songs I learned from my mother, no matter what it is that I do, my thoughts always wander to the strangers. Whenever they come to mind, a most curious emotion envelops me, and it is only when I come to stand and watch those miniscule men atop the wall that I recognize this feeling I have almost forgotten.

I feel lonely.

It's curious indeed, for why should I feel such a way? I should be used to my solitary life, for that is what I have grown to know. I can be alone with my thoughts with no one to badger me, or make me work, or compel me to speak when I do not wish to speak. There is no one to eat up my hard grown food, no one to dirty my meticulously washed garments, no one to dirty my floors or bother me with their habits or take time away from whatever it is I wish to do.

There are no distractions, and that is where my problem originates.

It was… odd… having those strangers here, an experience that I can neither describe as good or bad. But now that I have spent time with them, only for them to leave, suddenly, Stonewall's companionship isn't enough.

This past month, only now do I realize that horses can neither speak back or offer condolences. Stonewall is a brilliant, loyal stallion. He is my pride, strong and unwavering, beautiful in his coat of gray that turns silver in the night. He has been with me for as long as I can remember. I learned to walk because of him, for my mother would tell me of how I used his sturdy legs to steady myself as I walked around him, and all he would ever do was watch me as I went. Whenever I fell, he would offer his muzzle to hang on to as I pulled myself back to my feet again.

Such small gestures have not declined from those far away years. Even now, Stone is the rock beneath my feet. Whenever I suffer bouts of crushing depression, so difficult they can be at times that I forgo eating and hide myself away in a distant tree, he would always find me and nuzzle my head whilst making soft, hardy whinnies to cheer me up. He was always there, even in the pouring rain. He is my closest companion, a being as dear to my heart as the human members of my family.

But not even he can stave this ache in me as I yearn to the wall, and the five people I know to be living behind it.

Like barely uttered secrets, their names come to my tongue, and even after all this time, I have not forgotten them.

Gunther. Easy going and welcoming for the most part. I wonder how his wounded leg is healing up?

Oluo. A temper to match his mouth, and though we never were on good terms, I still wish the man well.

Eld. A man of few words, but such words are never wasted. I miss his constant calm.

Petra. The only woman I have ever known aside from my mother. She was so kind to me, my heart hurts because of it.

Eren. So kind and thoughtful when he wishes to be, and a being after my own heritage. I wonder how his people are treating him. I hope it is with the same kindness he offers so easily.

Levi. A difficult man to be around, but there is an essence in him that is somewhat familiar. He spoke coldly and sparingly, but it really wasn't anything new. Romulus was very much the same.

Those people that so abruptly interjected into my life, those people that are so strange to me, yet I long for their company again. Why is that so?

What brought them to me in the first place?

It was fate, of course. What else could it be?

There is nothing in this world that happens by coincidence, by chance. Everything is lead, one way or another, by some invisible string tugging at it constantly, leading every living creature onto a certain path. Surely, their visit was no different.

Of course not. The timing of their arrival was too convenient.

How many years have I daydreamed of a world filled with people like the ones I read about in my books? I have always been content with isolation, but in the deepest part of me, I have always wondered at these other beings called humans who seem so interesting when described in text. Before they came, I was content with mere daydreams, content with a subtle wishing of the heart that, one day, I would meet such people. I even wished upon a falling star in the childish hope that such a dream could be fulfilled.

Then it did.

There is no coincidence in the timing of such an event, for there is no such thing as coincidence. For them to appear on _that day _in particular, out of the entire year that my wish could be granted, it was _that day. _There is no way that they could have known, but then again, they wouldn't have to.

It doesn't matter if they know that they came to me on the anniversary of my birth. Only fate could have planned that.

It is that thought that has brought me here. That one fact that my futile, childish desire was given to me on the one day my parents always told me was dedicated to the granting of such desires. It is a sign, I'm sure of it.

And yet, as certain as I am of its legitimacy, I hesitate still.

The last time I have ever seen people aside from Levi and his comrades, my family was taken from me. Even now, so many years later, that fear is still very prominent in my being, and with each beat of my heart I can feel the warm rush of apprehension flood me.

Seeing those walls ahead of me manned by unknown people… it terrifies me.

But fate has made it very clear to me that these people are different. They did not wish to harm me, and I even found another human with the same strange ability as my own! What more incentive do I need?

A lot more, it seems, for I continue to just look and watch as Stonewall waits patiently beneath me, waiting for direction. He shifts, and I know he can feel that there is something different about today. He always seems to know when something is wrong.

He watched in silence as I gathered my clothing and folded them neatly into piles in my dresser earlier in the pale dawn. He watched as I cleaned every plate and bowl and piece of silverware I have before putting them in their rightful places. He watched as I put everything I own into boxes and containers, and moved my precious drawings and carvings downstairs to the basement so that the entire house is bare aside from the furniture too large to move. I made sure to put everything away, because I knew that, not only do I need an extra urge to continue forward, I know that, once this act is done…

I won't be going back.

My confidence wavers, and my body feels wriggly under the anxiety of what I know will come next, but I must do this. Didn't I wish to see what people were all about? And now I have the chance, if humanity is willing to have me.

Eren's offer still rings clear as a bell in my mind.

Never would I have thought that I would take such an proposal to heart, yet here I am.

Vaguely, I recall the words of wisdom my father always told me, in regards to doing something new.

'_It is just like learning to fly…' _I tell myself mentally, repeating his words. _'I already have all that I need. All that is required of me is to take that faithful step off the edge.'_

Am I really ready to do this? Of course, when will I ever be ready, if not now? If I hesitate, the moment will be gone, and I will face nothing but a mind plagued with 'what if's and 'what could have been's.

For a moment, I breathe and close my eyes, allowing the gentle brush of summer glide it's warm fingers through my hair.

'_Have faith. Nothing happens my chance.'_

Fate brought me here, of that I am sure. Who am I to question such a divine decree?

And so, after what has seems like hours of wasting away in the sun, I open my eyes and steel a determination deep inside my being.

''_You'll never plough a field by turning it over in your mind.'' _, I tell myself, finding comfort in my father's many proverbs. _'Thinking and meditating gets you nowhere, only action. How will I ever know if this is worthwhile if I merely ponder it over?'_

My body trembles with that instinctual fear that I cannot control, but my spirit and mind are set.

'_Watch me as I go.' _I plead to the memories of my family as I see each of their faces pop vividly in my mind, and I hope that they can hear my prayer from wherever their spirits are.

Without giving myself time to think more of the matter, I clutch Stonewall's mane so hard in my fists that my knuckles turn white an ache from the pressure, and giving just the slightest of pressure to him with my thighs, he begins to trot forward.

Forward toward the unknown.

Forward toward the new and novel.

Forward to the people who so abruptly interrupted my melancholy life.

I am deeply afraid, but my determination doesn't waver.


End file.
